Take this moment, sign and space

Today’s hymn from Sing Praise is John Bell’s “Take this moment, time and space”. It’s a gentle song addressing Christ in an intimate way, asking him to take me as I am and build my relationship with him in various ways.

The first verse asks that with my friends I may “make this place where your love is found”; the second and third ask for the time needed to accept forgiveness for past failings and regrets, acknowledging also my tiredness (a reality of many busy lives, rarely mentioned in our busy churches!) The fourth verse has some rather odd words about “the child in me scared of growing old”, and finding my true worth; and the last verse looks to the future (“take my talents, take my skills, take what’s yet to be”).

There could scarcely be more contrast in style between this, and yesterday’s bold declaration of faith in Christ’s saving power. But both have their place in a balanced spiritual life. At some points in our lives we will feel like praising God exuberantly, looking up to heaven; at others we will be like the proverbial tax collector beating his breast in shame and approaching God timidly for mercy; at others, just coming to God as we are, “weary, worn and sad” as another hymn puts it, and this song fits that last mood best.

One thought on “Take this moment, sign and space”

  1. Just back from holiday, and having recorded this one before I went, it is a little difficult to cast my mind back, but …

    I thought this was a charming little piece, reminiscent in some ways of “Take my life and let it be …” by Frances Ridley Havergal, and in other ways vintage John Bell – particularly in its mix of confession with the other elements of what one offers to God. It was actually a lot harder to sing and play than it looked: my voice is too accustomed to following the melody as played by the top fingers of the right hand, and this hymn requires a bit more manual and vocal independence than standard hymns do.

    I suppose my one hesitation is the slight selfish note of the final line. I wonder if I can aspire to C S Lewis’ ideal of rejoicing in my highest achievements in exactly the same way as if those achievements had been reached by someone else? I think I would have finished:

    … let my life be yours, both here
    and eternally.

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